Dirty Little Secret
by carroussella
Summary: It's not ideal, it's not what she wanted, but at the moment, she'll take whatever she can get. Potential spoilers for Season 4.


**Fandom:** Flashpoint**  
>Pairing:<strong> Sam/Jules**  
>Category:<strong> Romance**  
>Rating: K+<strong>**_  
>ONE-SHOT<em>**

**Disclaimer: **As much as I'd love to, I don't own Flashpoint, and all characters remain property of the show's wonderful scriptwriters. All original characters and plots are mine. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Synopsis: **It's not ideal, it's not what she wanted, but at the moment, she'll take whatever she can get. Potential spoilers for Season 4.

**Author's Note:** I don't know where this came from. I honestly don't. I was all poised to write a happy Jammy fic about sleepovers at Sam's… and then this came out of nowhere. I didn't write it with a specific episode time frame in mind, but I suppose that it falls somewhere in between 4x01 Personal Effects and 4x03 Run Jamie Run, since this is how I envisioned the JAM relationship to be during this period. Would love to hear what you think of it, so please leave a review if you're reading!

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><p>She doesn't know why she's doing it, but she is.<p>

Every morning, on the dot at five, she sneaks out of bed, picks up her clothes from the floor where they were hastily discarded from the night before. She casts one last longing look at the sleeping form before she grabs her shoes and turns away, letting herself out quietly, the lock clicking softly behind her.

It's a routine she's gotten down pat, repeating it nearly every day for the past four months.

It's a routine she's gotten so familiar with; she has memorized the smell of the fresh morning dew in the air, and knows exactly how many honks in the distance she'll hear as she exits the building. The sun will be barely peeking out from behind the night's dark clouds, with most of the illumination on the path provided by street lamps. It will be chilly, and she'll shiver as the wind hits her face, but she'll welcome it, closing her eyes for a moment to savor the gentle breeze.

Two blocks away, she'll walk past three homeless men in various states of drunkenness. A stray mongrel will nip at her ankles once she passes the drunks, and she'll always stop for a moment, bend down to give him a friendly pat on the head, grateful for some semblance of warm companionship in the wee hours. She'll be vigilant yet relaxed, a hazard of a job that constantly warns her about the dangers lurking in the darkness, and more often than not, she'll make yet another reminder to bring a gun along with her, just in case. She'll pay close attention to her footfalls on the pavement, then exhaling sighs of relief when she only hears her own.

She'll get home approximately forty minutes later, because although it's not a long walk, she likes taking her time, strolling along the streets and marveling at the quietness of the town before life begins to stir.

She finds a little peace then, in the silence and the uncharacteristic lull. It's so different, such a stark contrast from the adrenaline rush she's used to, with the job she has, and she finds herself appreciating the slow pace once in a while.

Or every morning, as it stands.

It's the little bright spark she's clinging on to, a little optimism she hangs on to, in the midst of her circumstances. _Their_ circumstances. It's not ideal, it's not what she wanted, but at the moment, she'll take whatever she can get.

She's never taken with her more than she brought; she always leaves in the morning with only her clothes and the phone and money she brought with her the previous night. Nothing more, nothing less. Occasionally, a piece of lingerie may go missing, lost in the melee of activities, but that immaterial scrap of clothing is all she can fathom leaving behind. At least that's what she likes to believe, what she likes to tell herself.

But in reality – and if she were honest with herself – she is lying; she never leaves with only what she brought. She always leaves with a little less; she leaves a part of herself behind. Every morning as she awakes, a part of her soul stays back in that bed, ensconced in the warmth of those arms. Her heart stays behind too, and this she knowingly leaves there, waiting for the night to once again fall before it's returned back to her.

And each morning, it gets more and more difficult to leave, because the little parts of her that are still intact are begging to stay behind. She leaves in the morning, a broken half, splintered into pieces, and it's always a battle to fight to put one foot in front of the other and walk away. She's not sure how long more she can do it, but she knows she has to.

There is no other choice, because being in that bed, in that apartment, in those arms, every night, is the only way she will ever feel whole. There are no other options, and she has long told herself that it's impossible to fight what's meant to be, and she has long decided just to accept the inevitable.

It doesn't mean that she's willing to give up the rest of her life, the dreams she's worked so hard to achieve. She has one life, and she wants to live it on her terms, and she wants it all. She doesn't want – and cannot – give up any part of it; doing so would be akin to giving up a part of herself and she doesn't want her already broken soul torn apart any further.

She knows the dangers they face, the sacrifices she has to make. But she knows, now more so than ever, how much it is worth it.

That's why she's willing to make the same journey every night, bone weary and exhausted, into the arms of a man she finds absolution in. That's why she's willing to walk the same path home, every morning, before the world stirs and discovers her. That's why she's willing to be this dirty little secret, sneaking around, appearing only in the dead of the night and leaving before the first light.

Because although it's not perfect, and it's not ideal, Sam Braddock is worth it, and she'll take whatever she can get.


End file.
